CHAPTER VII
JOHNSONESE
Luke was with Jinny at the cake-shop.
“Have another?” said Jinny.
He hesitated. It was her birthday, and she had been tipped, and was treating him. This would have seemed a natural proceeding a year ago, when he would have crammed himself to the utmost limits of her capital. But Luke was growing up; and though not sufficient of a man to forbid the lady to pay, was yet not sufficient of a boy unquestioningly to accept the fifth cream bun. Therefore he compromised with himself: he would ask her to state exactly her financial position; if it exceeded half a crown, he would eat that bun, and be damned to delicate considerations and social etiquette. But if less—
“How much cash have you got, Jinny?”
“Four and six,” promptly; “half a crown from Uncle Will, and two bob from old Simmons. But of course you’ve already eaten some of that.”
“Well, and so’ve you.”
“I’ve only had three, three twopennies—that’s sixpence; you’ve had four.”
“The shortcake’s a penny.”
“Sevenpence, then. And a lemonade each. And two—three sticks of chocolate cream;” Jinny did rapid mental calculations—she was top of her form in arithmetic—and announced two and elevenpence as still remaining from her four and six, after expenses were deducted. Whereat Luke, much relieved, took his fifth cake, satisfied that he had solved the difficulty in fashion befitting a man of the world.